


Give To Us Joy

by wendymr



Series: Seek For Kind Relief [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Colour-coordinating toothbrushes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“One toothbrush. I even colour-coordinated it with your bathroom, sir.” </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give To Us Joy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cactusonastair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactusonastair/gifts).



> Written for Cactusonastair, who correctly guessed that I was the author of her Secret Santa fic on the LiveJournal community Lewis_Challenge. This is a sequel to that fic, [To See Another's Woe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/625564). 
> 
> With thanks, as always, to the most excellent Lindenharp for BRing and extremely useful suggestions.

“One toothbrush. I even colour-coordinated it with your bathroom, sir.” In the kitchen of Robbie’s new flat, James holds up the bright purple monstrosity he found in Boots earlier.

“I did say repainting that room’s the first item on my list.” Robbie gives him an exasperated glare, which turns into a grin halfway through. “Just for that, you’re helping me. An’ what did I say about calling me sir off-duty?”

“Ah, but as you’ve long suspected, sometimes I call you sir because I mock.”

“Didn’t need you to confirm that, did I? Anyway, I hope you brought more than a toothbrush if you’re stayin’ tonight.” 

“Overnight bag in the car.” James wasn’t assuming; the invitation was for dinner – which he is to cook himself – but there was no mention of an overnight stay.

Robbie shakes his head. “Well, bring it in, then, man! I’ll start getting things ready for you in here. And red or white?”

“Chicken, so white. Back in a minute.”

______________________________________

Robbie moved into this new flat about a week ago, after a couple of months of viewing two-bedroom flats in different parts of the city in their limited off-duty time. In the end, he chose one in the building he was already living in. “I like it here,” he’d said in justification. “Low-maintenance, easy parking an’ it’s safe. Ten minutes from the station as well – and there’s a second parking space for you now. What would I want to move somewhere snobby like Summertown or _upwardly mobile_ like Jericho for?”

The short distance – up a flight of stairs (thankfully for James’s back, there’s also a lift) and along a hallway – meant they could accomplish the actual move in under a day, though it’s taken Robbie longer to get everything unpacked, which is why this is James’s first visit since then. The flat’s definitely bigger than the old one, including a larger and better-equipped kitchen and more living space, and both bedrooms, surprisingly, are big enough for double beds, unlike some of the flats they looked at. “Can’t make you sleep in a single bed. Would have to chop your legs off,” Robbie’d commented in disgust as they’d left one such place.

It’s still a matter of amazement to James that Robbie would put himself to the inconvenience and cost of moving to a larger and more expensive flat just for his benefit. But Robbie’s insisted that they both gain out of it, and maybe they do. There’s certainly no doubt now that his governor considers him as not just a friend, but his best friend.

It’s a feeling that’s reciprocated, even if James is wholly unused to the notion of being anyone’s best mate, or to having one himself, at least as an adult. He can learn, he thinks, though Lewis – Robbie – apparently thinks he’s already doing well enough at it not to require additional training. 

Right now, friendship apparently requires him to make pasta. It’s an obligation he’ll willingly fulfil.

______________________________________

“Still can’t fathom Blain running if he wasn’t guilty.” Robbie’s relaxed on the sofa, beer-glass in hand, just like so many other evenings they’ve spent together over the years.

“Clearly the intimidating power of your tie,” James suggests with a smirk. “One look and even the most blameless denizen of Oxford will flee before you.”

“Ha bloody ha.” Robbie jabs James with his elbow. “Seem to recall you were supposed to buy me a tie for me birthday a few years back.”

“Thought you might prefer the critique of Wagner I actually did get you to the Andy Capp tie I considered.”

“Shows how much you know, smartarse. Andy Capp’s from Hartlepool.” Robbie gives him a superior grin.

“Once you’re north of the M62 it’s all one great huddled mass, isn’t it?” He leans back, enjoying the anticipation of the retort to come.

“We huddled all right,” Robbie drawls. “Was the only way to keep warm on a winter’s night.” He shifts closer to James, squashing him against the side of the couch. “You’re lucky I’ve got an inside bog.”

“Ah, but you’ll still make me go outside to smoke.”

“And make breakfast in the morning, if you keep this up.”

______________________________________

As summer turns to autumn, a significant portion of James’s wardrobe has migrated to Robbie’s spare bedroom, and close to half his laundry now shares space in Robbie’s laundry basket and, in due course, his washing machine. It only makes sense since he now spends almost as much time at his governor’s flat as at his own.

Nights when they’ve been working late and just want to wind down together before sleeping. After a case has been solved and there’s celebrations and post-mortems over beer and takeaway, after a pint or two at the White Horse or whichever hostelry takes their fancy. Or when they’ve got a precious day or two off-duty and there’s no need to get up early the following day. 

It’s become a habit, though not one James believes he’ll want to break at any point in the near future. Some day he’ll have to, of course. Some day in the not too remotely distant future, his governor will retire, and all signs point to him moving to Manchester. 

There are times when James finds himself wondering how Robbie would react should he follow him northwards. There are jobs in Manchester, after all, and surely something an ex-copper who never quite fit in, whose inclination leans more towards exegesis than crime and punishment, could find rewarding. There are also universities in the city, including one that’s actually a member of the Russell Group, and it’s got a halfway-decent theology department. And many other departments, should another change of direction appeal. Law? There are times when he could visualise himself arguing the case for the prosecution in court – or, perhaps, for the defence. Though only if he could specialise in the dispossessed, the unfairly accused and the penitent. Regrettably, however, that’s not how the legal system works, and he’d no doubt find himself briefed to act for the likes of Dr Stringer and Professor Walters.

Or, indeed, Simon Monkford, who is now released on parole. Robbie hasn’t mentioned the man again since that evening they went to London, now almost three months ago. James, to his astonishment, had a letter from Monkford just last week. He hasn’t mentioned it to Robbie, and he won’t, though the letter itself gave him considerable pause for thought.

_I have served five years, though I know and understand that your Inspector would want it to have been more. He won’t believe me and I don’t want you to tell him that I will be paying penance for my crime for the rest of my life. I’d been a petty criminal for a long time, as you know, Sergeant, but never before had I been responsible for ending someone’s life. I will never insult Inspector Lewis with an apology. However, I do thank you for your detective work that made me face the consequences of my actions._

_I hope to be able to find some sort of gainful – and lawful – employment; I don’t intend to darken the doors of any police force or court again. I want to make you witness to this promise, and invite you, should I ever break it, to argue for the strictest sentence available. I would deserve it and more. For now, I hope to undertake some voluntary work for Brake. I’m willing to do anything they want, if they’ll accept me. Of course, my story may be a salutary lesson for others._

After reading the letter twice and mulling it over for a day or two, James phoned Brake – the road safety charity which, among other things, campaigns for better laws governing hit-and-runs and provides support for victims and their families. Monkford had indeed applied to volunteer. The volunteer coordinator was inclined to reject the application on the grounds that volunteers tended to be drawn from victims and their families and the presence of an offender might do more harm than good. He hadn’t intended to do so, but James gave his opinion that Monkford’s remorse is genuine and that this could be channelled into some useful campaigning.

Maybe his destiny is to be a parole officer. Or a social worker, perhaps in a halfway house or something of the kind – if he isn’t to spend his life’s journey among books and the thoughts of long-dead philosophers and scholars. Either way, there must be suitable courses at Manchester University for a man who’s failed at being a priest and who can’t face life in the police force once his governor retires.

And perhaps, if he’s very fortunate, Robbie Lewis, in whatever accommodation he chooses to acquire in Manchester, will still have a spare room where his one-time bagman will be welcome to sleep every now and then. He doesn’t, and will never allow himself, to hope for more than that. 

Not just because Robbie Lewis is not that sort of man, but because James Hathaway is neither deserving of nor capable of keeping such a gift.

______________________________________

It’s a miserable, rainy day in November, and he and Robbie have spent most of it outdoors at a murder scene in Marley Wood. They ended up soaked to the skin and Robbie’s declared enough. They’ll go back to his for the night, and resume enquiries in the morning.

James has had to go home first because he’s not had time to get to the dry-cleaner in two weeks and he doesn’t have a clean suit at Robbie’s. Still wet – he didn’t see the point of getting dry and changed at his flat only to go back out into the rain – he waits for Robbie to answer the door. He’s taking his time, but then Robbie had stated his intention to have a hot shower as soon as he got in.

Finally, the door opens. “Get yourself inside, man! Kettle’s on and there’s plenty of hot water.” Robbie’s already changed into jeans and a warm jumper, and James can’t wait to follow his example.

After a shower, Robbie shoves a mug of tea at him, and then a key. “Should’ve given you that when I moved in, daft sod that I am.” His thanks is interrupted by a loud sneeze. 

Later, after food, they’re watching QI when James sneezes again, and then can’t stop. He swears before he can stop himself. “Sorry. Looks like I’m coming down with something.” He scrubs his face. “I should go home. Don’t want you to catch it too.”

“What, go back out in that? Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I’ve been with you all day an’ got just as wet as you. You won’t make anything worse by staying now.”

“Still, I should.” Hardly fair that Robbie should have to listen to him sniffle and cough most of the night if he is getting sick.

“You’ll stay where you are.” A warm hand presses on his shoulder, and then Robbie gets to his feet. “Misery loves company, after all – can’t send you home to be alone, can I, soft lad?” 

Ten minutes later, Robbie’s pressing a mug of LemSip into his hand, and he’s falling further than ever.

______________________________________

December’s cold, and in the spirit of cruel and unusual punishment for CID officers, is also the start of a crime spree. A serial rapist, several major burglaries and a spate of white-collar crime mean that the rotation gets around to James and Robbie far more often than a reasonable copper can tolerate.

“Why do bodies always get discovered at three in the morning? Tell me that, Sergeant!” Robbie snaps at barely dawn one foggy, freezing day. 

“If I knew the answer to that, sir, they’d probably arrest me for witchcraft.” 

“And you’re so skinny you’d bloody float if they threw you in the Cherwell to test the theory,” Robbie counters.

James smothers a smile; it doesn’t do to be caught laughing while Dr Hobson’s conducting her initial examination. And on the way back to the station he stops and buys them both extra-large coffees at the sole twenty-four-hour McDonald’s in the local area. It’s not up to the standards of more specialist establishments, but it’s beyond words better than the stuff that passes for coffee at the station after hours.

They’ve now got three murder cases ongoing, none of which are related, and it’s clear they won’t be getting any time off for a while. They’re already rostered to work over Christmas, though Robbie’s determined to see they get New Year off, and at least three straight days. James has already been told that he’ll be staying at Robbie’s; he assumes that Lyn must be otherwise occupied this year.

They’re so busy over Christmas they barely notice the day itself, although James does slope off in the early morning for Mass, and Robbie either pretends not to notice or covers for him; James isn’t sure and he knows Robbie will never tell him. Finally, on Boxing Day, there’s a break in one of the murders, and late in the afternoon they actually get a confession. The husband – it’s always the spouse, isn’t it? – believed his wife was having an affair with a colleague and decided to make it impossible for the affair to continue.

The confession’s signed and the accused charged and handed over to the custody sergeant, and Robbie declares, yawning, that the rest can wait. “Come back to mine tonight, eh? I don’t fancy going out for a pint. Just get a takeaway, yeah?”

“I’m a bit sick of our recent diet of convenience food, actually.” James switches off his computer with blessed relief. “Even if it’s to be eaten in more pleasant surroundings. Got anything in your fridge?”

Robbie snorts. “Half a loaf of bread, milk that’s past its sell-by date and maybe a couple of rotting vegetables. Sainsbury’s?”

“Sainsbury’s,” James agrees.

Quick and simple is preferred over complicated, and so they return home with salmon fillets, fresh vegetables already prepared for cooking, and a couple of potatoes for baking. The potatoes go into the oven while the two of them change, and dinner’s ready forty-five minutes after they arrived home. Robbie finds a film on BBC – it’s almost a shock to see the TV schedules and realise that it’s still technically Christmas – and they slouch with their feet up, barely talking. The film, a Vietnam-era thriller, is followed by a Christmas episode of some popular drama neither of them particularly cares for, but neither of them can make the effort to change the station.

The drama’s almost over when James feels a weight against his side. Robbie’s fast asleep, mouth open as he snores softly, and his head’s fallen to James’s shoulder. He stares for a couple of minutes, heart beating rapidly, and then – slowly, carefully, in case any sudden movement awakens his boss – lets his own head fall to rest on top of Robbie’s.

Later – how long later he couldn’t say – Robbie stirs. “Time for bed, bonny lad,” he says, voice sleepy, and presses a soft kiss to James’s lips. “Night.”

James’s heart’s beating so loudly he can’t imagine how Robbie can’t hear it, and he waits in trepidation for his friend to realise what he’s just done and deny the intention of it. But Robbie just nudges him to get up, and pads off to his own bedroom.

In the morning, James is up first and gets breakfast ready while Robbie’s in the bathroom. In his head, he practises nonchalant, casual responses for Robbie’s inevitable regrets and request for him to pretend it never happened. He will pretend, for Robbie’s sake and for the sake of what the two of them have now and what he hopes they’ll have in the future, beyond Robbie’s retirement. 

Robbie doesn’t mention it. He eats his breakfast with every appearance of enjoyment, and talks briskly about what will need to be done today: case reports for Innocent and CPS, collation of evidence and witness statements and so on. Reviewing their other cases for missing information and possible new leads. “An’ you’ll need to find time to give notice on your flat an’ all,” he finishes.

James gapes, reviewing Robbie’s last words in case he’s somehow misheard. Robbie’s smile at his confusion is definitely more of a smirk. “What’s the point in keeping it? You’re over here so much you might as well just move in.”

He’s still looking at Robbie, so sees as well as hears what’s not being said. It’s an invitation, and one Robbie hopes very much he’ll accept.

James is a long way from the idiot he was in his younger years. He accepts. And tells himself that it’s just a coincidence that Robbie’s hand brushes his more than once as they clear away the breakfast dishes.

______________________________________

New Year’s Day, and James stretches in bed in the blissful knowledge that he’s not going anywhere today. It’s wet and windy outside, and the entire city can look after itself for a change without the services of Detective Inspector Lewis and Detective Sergeant Hathaway.

“Mornin’.” The voice in his ear is sleepy. “What you doing awake? I wasn’t planning on bein’ awake for hours yet.”

James smiles. “Happy New Year, Robbie.” He rolls over and finds his lover’s lips in the semi-darkness. Several satisfying moments later, he lets his arm rest around Robbie’s waist. “Go back to sleep. Kick me out when you want coffee.”

“Y’might regret that offer,” Robbie mumbles, and within seconds is asleep again.

James has never been sentimental about the start of a new year. The first of January is a date on the calendar, no more than that. Yet this year he thinks he may want to drink to new beginnings; to the future, whatever it holds for him. There will be changes, including a new career to decide upon, but one constant: the man beside him. 

_Are you for me?_ Robbie asked all those years ago. Yes, yes, and a thousand times yes, James has wanted to say ever since. 

_“My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite,”_ he quotes softly, lips pressed against Robbie’s hair.

Robbie snores. And outside, the rain continues to lash against the window.


End file.
